


Elhaz

by Phileas



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Magic Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phileas/pseuds/Phileas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been the sweater and cheesecake incidents, but that had been followed by an ill managed delivery of flowers of what used to be two dozen roses and ended up being a handful of buttercups, the fish thing (better left unmentioned, but involving a terrifying amount of sardines, three mackerels and an angry flock of seagulls), and most recently, what had to be Grantaire’s favourite so far, the notes. </p>
<p>Enjolras fails at basic boyfriend activities, Grantaire couldn't be more in love with him, and yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elhaz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hogwartsjaguar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hogwartsjaguar/gifts).



> for the prompt: Enjolras tries so hard to be a good boyfriend, but he doesn't do so well and he keeps messing things up such as dying Grantaire's shirts pink when he tries to wash them and burning dinner. He is always convinced that Grantaire is going to leave him one day. Grantaire writes Enjolras a list of one hundred and one reasons why he loves Enjolras.
> 
> I took Hogwartsjaguar's prompt and... sort of ran with it. I hope you'll still like it and enjoy reading that story! Happy Valentine!  
> (This is not a Harry Potter AU, more like a world where magic is a normal thing, and unique to everyone.)

“Merde! Meeeeeerde!!! Nom de dieu de merde!”

In the other room, Grantaire closed his eyes and smiled. He was well accustomed to Enjolras’ rare but verbally crass loss of temper. He put down his brushes, gently pat the excess of water out of them on a dry rag, put away what he was working on and stood up as Enjolras’ sounds of frustration were turning to quiet distress.

“Oh no… Oh no, shit fffuuh…

“Enjolras?

“Grantaire? No, no, don’t come in! It’s fine, I’ve got the situation well in h- holy crap!

“All right, I’m coming in right now…”

Enjolras was on his knees on the middle of his study, trying to hide what was most definitely Grantaire’s favourite pull-over. The wool was slowly combusting on itself, producing small green flames from time to time.

“Oh Grantaire, I am so very sorry.” Enjolras got up “I was trying to make it self-heating with a new spell I’m trying out, and it worked well on my gloves, but it turns out that the wool in your sweater is way more flammable than I expected and...” He bit his lip, pale and grave “I’m sorry. I know it was your favourite, I should have asked, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Grantaire looked from what used to be his sweater and was now a fuming pile of ashes to Enjolras who looked genuinely chagrined by the whole disaster. His face was unreadable as he squeezed Enjolras’ arm and said lowly “You can buy me a new pull-over I guess” before leaving the room, shoulder shaking and head bowed.

Enjolras closed his eyes, turned toward the heap of burnt wool and sat down on the wooden floor, defeated, missing the muffled giggling coming from the other side of the apartment.

 

*

 

It was a sunny day of January. It had hailed every day for the past week but the sun was out at last, and Grantaire was enjoying the relative warmth on his skin while walking home from a delivery.

It had been an oracle deck of 48 cards for a lovely old woman who wished to gift it to her grand-daughter on the occasion of her passing into maidenhood. Grantaire had put a lot of thoughts in his illustrations and ogham work. He had illustrated a vast array of things in his shop, with complicated pentacles, runes, sigils and faithful reproductions of plants and animals on grimoires, created tarot and oracle cards for numerous use and people. Just last month he had finished a tarot deck for Musichetta and a set of painted wooden runes for Combeferre. The only urgent project he had to finish now was a personal one.

Grantaire was now hurrying home, eager to finish a particular illustration that was waiting for him in his office. He had started his pet project for a couple weeks now, and that one piece was so far his favourite.

He opened the front door to the flat he shared with Enjolras and frowned at the sound of glass shards being dragged across the floor and the lack of radio. Enjolras always listened to the radio around noon when he was at home and he knew for a fact that his boyfriend had not planned to go out today.

He came round the hallway and put his head through the door opening to look into the kitchen.  
 **Ragnarök**.   
This is what had happened in the kitchen.

The table was covered in egg whites and flour, there was melted butter on the stove, crushed biscuits almost everywhere and the floor was a mess of what looked to be white brain matter and glass shards, but was in fact meant to be cheese-cake in a plate.

“What happened?”

Enjolras looked up, lower lip bitten almost raw and his hands tightened around the broom he was using to get rid of the mess.

“I... Confused baking soda and corn flour. I was trying to make a cheese-cake to celebrate the... The tarot cards deck being finished and handed over, I know you love cheese-cake and I figured it wouldn’t be that hard to bake and... I was wrong. Obviously.

“I cleaned the kitchen this morning before I left...

“I know! I know Grantaire, I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it all again! The plate slipped on the... butter and it crashed to the ground. And frankly it was a bit disgusting so it’s better that it’s gone but I...”

Enjolras took one look at Grantaire’s blank face and stopped talking.

“I’m sorry.

“It’s fine, Enjolras. I’ll help you clean.”

It only took them under 15 minutes to clean the kitchen. Grantaire put a soft kiss on Enjolras’ cheek and disappeared in his office with an amused smile that went unnoticed by Enjolras, left to sit at the table, trying not to break his own fist by clenching them too hard.

*

Grantaire was applying the last layer of varnish on his work and smiling at his own illustrations, remembering fondly the past two weeks and Enjolras increasingly desperate attempt at boyfriend-hood. There had been the sweater and cheesecake incidents, but that had been followed by an ill managed delivery of flowers of what used to be two dozen roses and ended up being a handful of buttercups (Grantaire had pressed them and had smiled for days afterward, despite Enjolras’ despair at messing up a simple flower bouquet), the fish thing (better left unmentioned, but involving a terrifying amount of sardines, three mackerels and an angry flock of seagulls), and most recently, what had to be Grantaire’s favourite so far, the notes. Enjolras had taken to leave small notes in his pockets, wishing him a good day, a pleasant commute to the centre of Paris if he was taking the Métropolitain, small notes of love that Grantaire treasured and kept his hands and pockets warm during the day. But Enjolras’ magic laid in his words, and a simple note assuring him that he was loved would insure a day of hectic hide-and-seek from absolute strangers declaiming their love to him in the middle of the street. Much to his regret, Grantaire had to ask Enjolras to stop slipping him love notes if he wanted to spend a normal day.

He could tell that Enjolras was genuinely trying to do small gestures of affections and love for him, and despite the clumsiness of most of them, Grantaire had never felt happier. Each were a proof that Enjolras loved him and for Grantaire who sighed after him for so long, it was like the first warm day of February, when the sunlight is not yet gold but enough to make you forget all about the cold.

Grantaire left his work to dry completely and stretched. He couldn’t wait to show Enjolras.

Scratching his belly, he got out of his office and walked to his boyfriend’s study. Enjolras was apparently on the phone, from what he could hear, and he prepared himself to knock when he heard his name.

“You didn’t see Grantaire’s face, Courfeyrac. It’s was horrible, I thought he was going to cry. I can’t do anything right! I’m horrible at this boyfriend business... No, I assure you, he was so mad. First the sweater, then the thing with the fish... I don’t know Courf! Everything should have gone fine, I don’t know what happened! ... No... No I don’t want to talk about it with him... Because what if I do and he tells me he can’t do it anymore? I can’t... I can’t lose him. I don’t want to give him the opportunity to break up with me, but I keep ruining everything!

“You don’t...” Grantaire opened the door, eyes wide and hands trembling. “Enjolras you don’t ruin everything!”

Enjolras looked at him, horrified, and hanged up the phone without a word more.

“Grantaire...

“I heard what you told Courfeyrac. You’re wrong.” Enjolras flinched but Grantaire went on “I love you. I love you so much. Everything you did, I loved it! I... I need to show you something.” He gently took Enjolras’ hand and dragged him to his own office. “I was going to give it to you next week, for your name day, but now is better...”

Letting Enjolras’ hand go he turned the light on and very carefully removed a piece of fabric from his workbench. A deck of 42 cards were lying on the wood, the recently applied varnish glistening under the lamp. Enjolras’ lips parted in surprise.

“Is that...”

Grantaire hummed and pointed to one of the cards. It depicted a large amount of silver and blue fish under a bright golden sun, the word “ _protection_ ” delicately written at the bottom of the card.

“Protection?” Enjolras smiled, taking Grantaire’s hand in his again. “Why protection?

“You did shield me from the seagulls, I’ll have you remember. That was heroic.” He smiled “All of them... They describe something I love about you.”

Enjolras seemed incapable of talking, but his hand squeezed Grantaire’s, who kept on talking.

“I like the one with the buttercups, but my favourite is “ _the word_ ”... See? The one with you talking, I draw it at the Musain! That’s why it’s a profile. You have a great profile. But I couldn’t just make a card called “the profile” I mean, what does that even mean, you can’t read a card called “the profile”, I asked Musichetta, she was greatly amused.”

Enjolras turned toward Grantaire and took his other hand in his.

“I love it.

“You do?

“Of course I do.” Enjolras smiled softly. “Who wouldn’t want to read cards that are all about them?

“I know you don’t read cards, but I’m sure Musichetta would do it for you... or for me. I mean, a tarot deck that consist only of you and things I love about you? My future can only be bright!

“What the fuck Grantaire,” Enjolras laughed, embracing Grantaire and hiding his face in his boyfriend’s neck “That was so soppy...

“Says the one hiding his tears... Wait are you really crying? Enjolras? Are you crying?

“Shut up... Take me to bed.

“See! Good luck already.”

Enjolras laughed again, and if his eyes were a little wet, well no one needed to know.

 

 

 


End file.
